The die is cast
by Svetlanacat
Summary: They can't turn back the clock... but better late than never. Time will tell.


_In the beginning..._

In the locker-room, he checked the reflection of his slim body in the mirror. So, here he was. In the U.S.A.. Since four months. For... one day, one week, one month, one year... ? For his whole life ? As a Section 2 Uncle agent... life could be short... He didn't know. Above all, what he didn't know was... what he wished. He wasn't a defector. His government had lent him to the Uncle. He had been left free to choose. Officially.

And he had a partner. The Section 2 number 1 himself. The CEA. Napoleon (!) Solo... That didn't fool him. It wasn't to honour his country. Even less to honour him.

-Mr Solo will show you the ropes, Mr Kuryakin.

As if he needed a baby sitter... Or a watchdog ?

Nevertheless, Napoleon Solo wasn't the CEA by sheer chance. He was a professional. Efficient, very efficient. And... a nice man. Open-minded, easy-going. Concerned. Teasing, gently teasing. Gentle. And... handsome. Attractive. A seducer...

Infuriating. Aggravating. Disarming.

_Outside the locker-room, he was waiting for his ... partner. A partner..._

_-Mr Solo, you'll show him the ropes !_

_A Russian. The attraction ! Since four months. For... Napoleon Solo didn't know. Until his government would call him back. Or until he would give up and choose to go back home. Being Russian, and not a defector, working in the US, in New York... was quite a challenge. A rough challenge. He took it up. For the moment... Napoleon Solo knew one thing for sure : he would do his best to help him..._

_He didn't really look like a Russian spy. Well, he didn't really look like a spy. Blond hairs, too long. Waverly's remark... Solo's comment... How interesting ! Blue... very blue eyes. Fine features. Average heights. Rather slim. Young, and looking younger than he was. Especially, when he pouted... But a professional. Efficient. Very efficient Clever... A Mr Know-all. No, that was unfair. He knew... a lot of thing, but didn't like to be in the forefront._

_A ... pain in the neck. And that wasn't entirely unfair. Distant. Self sufficient. Aloof, even prickly. Stubborn. Teasing. Not so gently teasing. Concerned. Sometimes gentle. Faithful._

_Handsome. Attractive. A heart breaker. Many women_ _melted for him_. _He simply ignored... No. Worse. He looked as if he didn't even notice them._

_Infuriating. Aggravating. Disarming._

_**Five years later**..._

-That's why I said you should live with me ! Er... I mean, in the same building !

He smiled grimly at his friend, rolled his eyes and left him in his apartment. Five years. He was a full Uncle agent. His status was ... indefinite. He wasn't really a defector. He didn't think so. Anyway, he would never go back to Russia. If his government ordered him to... He brushed away the unpleasant thought.

To live here ? With Napoleon... as a neighbour ? Oh, no.

Efficient partner, close friend. Faithful. Concerned... but still an incorrigible woman-chaser.

You talked with him, and his glance wandered round. Suddenly, he focused his eyes on something. Someone. A woman. A passer-by. An innocent. An agent. An enemy. Mostly, nothing more than a glance. Sometimes.. . Often. Very often... No, he could never live here, and ...

-Illya !

Napoleon had run after him. He looked sorry, and grabbed his friend arm. He pulled him close.

-Illya, are you okay ? I didn't want to hurt you... All I meant was...

Illya Kuryakin put his hand right on his friend's, and forced a smile.

-I know what you meant, Napoleon, and you didn't hurt me. I... I'll think about it.

Napoleon Solo shook his head, leaned forward, closer, and whispered.

-A polite version of « how interesting ! », tovarisch !

And he released his grip. And he went away.

Illya Kuryakin had seen Napoleon Solo with other agents. Male agents. Some of them were friends. Napoleon always kept a sort of safe distance from them. He tapped on their shoulders. At a arm's length. He hugged them. For one or two seconds.

He acted differently with him. He always had. Close. He touched him. He often leaned towards him. Just as he had just done. And he talked to him. Close, so close.

But a lady came. The grip was released. The face went away.

But Napoleon looked worried. Hurt.

Would he run after him, to ... apologize ?

_So self-controlled Illya. So discreet. So ... mysterious. Nobody knew what Illya Kuryakin did when he left the Uncle headquarter. Except for Napoleon Solo, they thought. All of them. And they were wrong. Of course, he went sometimes at his partner's home. Home. A tiny place, where Illya lived, between his books and his records. Or... what was it a smoke screen ? Illya Kuryakin's girl friends... Or perhaps... just one ? Perhaps... Section 2 agents couldn't marry, but... Perhaps, somewhere, a young woman, a wife, perhaps... a child... And Illya couldn't entrust such a secret to anyone. Even... to his closest friend ? _

_He had seen him almost dying. He hugged him. He would have told... For his family's sake. He would have told... He would have entrust them to him._

_Distant. At a arm's length from anybody, male or female. Except for him. Illya accepted him. His touch. His closeness. Of course, he sometimes sighed, he rolled his eyes, he muttered... but he accepted. And he ... paid back. Sometimes._

_So... why did he refuse to live there ?_


End file.
